


blood on (y)our hands

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: Death, Gen, Gore, M/M, Magic, Stalking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-22 06:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 18,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: Spooktober Prompts, revolving around Julian Larson and/or Logan WrightPart I: RevengePart II: OutbreakPart III: TransformationPart IV: SecretPart V: CreaturePart VI: PactPart VII: VisitorPart VIII: MemoryPart IX: DarePart X: Basement





	1. Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep these all under 500 words.
> 
> I failed on a few.

Nobody pays any attention to him when he walks inside. He’s smart, he’s done his research. White pants, white shirt, white shoes, no shoelaces. The outfit was easy enough to recreate, and he blends in well with the others. Nobody spares him a second glance.

His slow meander through the hallway is similar enough to the way the others walk. He adds in intentional pauses, a few twitches. It gives him enough time to read the names on the doors.

He should’ve expected it would be at the end of the hall. More remote, with stronger locks.

Adam doesn’t seem to recognize him when he walks in. His eyes are unfocused, his movements slow and aborted. He’s sitting in front of a canvas, and Logan’s fists clench when he recognizes the outline of a red rose on the paper.

“Hello,” the boy says, almost kindly, “I’ve already taken my medicine.”

“I’m not a nurse.”

“They said I wasn’t allowed to have roommates.”

“I’m not a roommate.”

Adam frowns, sets down his paintbrush, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Logan takes a step forward, but Adam doesn’t react, “No. Should I?”

“I suppose not. Justin did say you weren’t aware of much anymore.”

Adam finally breaks eye contact. He looks down, stares at his hands.

“They give me medicine,” he says, “I don’t...it makes me forget.”

“I know the feeling.”

“You do?”

Logan takes another step, “There’s one thing I think you’ll remember. One thing I need you to remember.”

“What’s that?”

“Julian,” Logan says, slipping one hand into his jacket pocket, “You remember Julian, don’t you?”

Adam’s eyebrows knit together for a moment. He appears to be thinking intently, and then he nods, raising his eyes once more.

“Julian,” he says, his voice soft, “Is he here? Did he come for me?”

“No.”

“Will he?” Adam says, his voice growing louder, “He...I love him. I  _ love _ him. Why won’t he come for me?”

“He can’t. You did something very bad, Adam.”

“I did?”

“You did,” another step, more deliberate this time, “Something  _ very _ bad, and I need to make sure it never happens again. I owe him that, you see.”

“Owe who?”

“Julian. We have something in common, you know. We both want to protect him. The only difference is that I actually know how.”

Adam frowns, “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t really need you to.”

It takes so little effort. He expects some resistance, some pushback as the knife slices through skin, through tendon.

But it’s smooth. Easy. 

Adam’s eyes widen for just a moment. The blood streams in thick rivulets down his neck, falling rapidly from the wound on his throat -- exactly the same spot Adam’s hand had held a knife to Julian.

It only takes a few seconds. He gasps, chokes, falls to the ground. His body flails, siezes, stills.

Nobody pays any attention to him when he leaves. 

Nobody spares him a second glance.


	2. Outbreak

He’s sick.

He doesn’t quite realize how bad it is, not at first. It starts off like any other cold -- a scratchy throat, fatigue, soreness. But it doesn’t go away the way other illnesses do.

The disease is all over the news. In every newspaper, the hot topic on everyone’s lips. Something that destroys you from the inside out, that turns you into a monster.

Nobody wants to use the word _ zombie _, but it’s close enough.

And he has it.

It starts in California. It gets worse in Ohio.

He’s already been losing weight, already looks not quite like himself. Derek blames it on stress. The others don’t notice. Nobody suspects that he has the one thing they’re all scared of.

But he knows.

He can feel it growing inside him, can see the effects in the mirror. His skin begins to crack, and he resorts to long sleeves to hide the red rawness on his arms. There’s no cure, he knows.

He’s going to die.

But he won’t do it alone. 

He _ can’t _.

It’s not just his fear of loneliness, of going through this transformation alone. It’s the disease itself, taking root deep inside, telling him he _ has to _.

He _ has to _ bring someone else with him. He _ has to _ pass it on.

He _ has to _.

And who else could he possibly choose?

Logan barely stirs, when he slips into the room. That beautiful blonde head is nestled against the pillow, one leg thrown out from beneath the thick blankets. He makes a soft noise when Julian pulls the covers back, when he slides onto the mattress.

He stills again, when Julian winds an arm around his waist. He’s never been a light sleeper, and Julian can be so very quiet when he tries. 

It feels so nice here, in Logan’s bed. Logan’s warm, and comfortable, and he smells faintly like Armani cologne and lemongrass shampoo. Julian can’t help but sigh, pressing close. He almost feels alive again.

But he’s not, or course.

Or he won’t be much longer.

He can feel it growing inside him. He’s sure he won’t live until morning. Logan will wake up tomorrow with a corpse in his bed. With an undead creature. 

But soon, he’ll be the same. The disease is quick. It spreads easily.

Soon, Logan will be just like him.

And Julian won’t be alone anymore.


	3. Transformation

It runs in his family. The Wright Curse, they call it. It’s easy enough to explain, most days. He has anger problems, he tells people. He has a hard time controlling his emotions. He shows them his medication, the orange bottle full of nothing but sugar pills.

But once a month, it’s not quite as simple to hide.

Dalton has a place for things like him. A shed, well-hidden in the trees past the soccer fields, built decades ago when the first Wright stepped foot on campus. Unassuming from the outside, but reinforced and solid inside. There are chains on the wall, a soundproofed door of thick lead to keep him safe.

To keep him hidden.

Nobody questions it, when he disappears once a month.

Until Julian.

Stupid,  _ foolish _ Julian, who notices too much, who asks too many questions. He’s grown curious, lately, has pushed through Logan’s excuses.

But he responds so well to rage, Logan discovers. He retreats when shouted at, storms away when pushed.

Logan hadn’t  _ wanted _ to throw him into that CD rack. But he’d pressed, and he’d pushed, and nightfall was nearing. Julian had stared up at him with barely-concealed hate, after, hand firmly pressed against the still-bleeding wound on his temple.

It had stopped him.

And Logan had escaped.

He barely manages to click the manacles into place around his wrists before the change begins. His skin warps, his bones crack and re-form. A loud, painful scream emanates from deep in his throat as his human body falls away, as the monster takes over.

It always takes a lot out of him, at first. He collapses limply against the wall, held tight by the shackles pressed into his skin.

He’s hungry.  _ So _ hungry. They don’t let him eat like this. They don’t want to feed the monster, they say. The hunger gnaws at his insides, but it won’t kill him. It isn’t enough time to actually starve to death.

But  _ god _ , he’s hungry, and something smells so  _ delicious _ .

There’s a noise nearby, and Logan’s head snaps up.

Oh, dear.

It seems in his rush, he’s neglected to latch the door.

His eyes are wide, as he stares at the creature before him, at the shredded remains of Logan’s uniform, the Stuart crest bright on the dark cement floors.

“L - Logan?”

His voice cracks, and Logan can see the dawning recognition in those eyes.

  
_ God _ ,  _ he’ll be delicious. _


	4. Secret

Logan isn’t an idiot.

He’s a teenager in charge of a gang of criminals, the feared leader of Ohio’s largest crime ring. He’s smarter than anyone gives him credit for, more cunning than anyone else around him. He knows every single person beneath him, knows all their weaknesses, all their pressure points.

He knows all their secrets.

Some might call him cruel, if they knew just how calculated his interactions with Julian really were. If they had any idea how much effort he puts into the relationship, how careful he has to be with his little pet gunman. 

But loyalty is the most valuable commodity one can have, in his position.

You can’t easily earn the kind of loyalty he has from Julian. You can’t intimidate people into following so blindly.

Only love can do that.

Oh yes, he knows exactly _why_ Julian’s such an obedient assassin. Why he follows Logan’s commands without question, without hesitation. 

Logan isn’t stupid.

He’s known all along.

Julian’s a talented actor, to be sure. But nobody can keep that kind of facade intact with drugs streaming through their system. He’d given himself away early on, and Logan hadn’t quite known what to do with the information at first.

So he’d kept quiet.

He’d observed.

He'd decided.

He needs Julian’s loyalty. He needs Julian’s skill. It’s not just the drugs he’s addicted to. It’s  _ Logan _ .

So Logan will play along.

He’ll give just enough to keep Julian close, hold back just enough to make him want more. 

He can’t give Julian everything he wants, of course. That would give _Julian_ more power, and he can't have that. If he lets Julian take anything more, things could get messy. 

And Logan doesn't like messes.

Julian turns, when Logan steps into the room. Those pretty pink lips curve into a pretty pink smile, and a spiral of smoke rises into the air.

"Another assignment?" he asks, turning onto his side.

"Don't disappointment me."

"I won't."

"I know."


	5. Creature

Someone is watching him.

They have been, for quite some time.

Logan can feel it. He can feel it when he goes to sleep at night. He can feel it when he walks down the street. He can feel it when he’s alone, and when he’s not.

Someone is watching him.

He isn’t sure what they want. It can’t be malicious, he likes to think. They would have acted by now. Would have taken him away, or hurt him, or killed him. They’re just  _ there _ , always watching, always with him.

It’s frightening, at first. He sleeps with the light on, turns over his shoulder to seek out whoever it is.

Eventually, he finds it almost comforting. He’s never alone. Someone’s always with him.

One night, he startles awake, feels the inexplicable sense of someone near. The mattress beside him is warm, and his lips tingle as if they’ve just been touched. His fingers brush up against his mouth, and he’s suddenly desperately, terribly aroused.

He knows they’re still watching, even as his hand slides beneath the sheets. As he grips himself firmly in hand, strokes for far too short a time before he’s spilling into his sweatpants. He can  _ feel _ them,  _ smell _ them,  _ taste _ them, and it makes his mind swim.

He  _ wants _ .

He wants someone he can’t even see, someone he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why they’re there, what they want with him, but  _ he wants _ .

They get bolder, after a time. Some nights, Logan can feel the press of a warm body against his, the slight tickle of something nuzzling against his neck. He sleeps so much deeper than usual those nights, wakes up feeling rested and content.

His life gets easier, somehow. 

It’s like they’re watching out for him, like they’re keeping the bad things away. He wants to express his gratitude, but he feels foolish speaking to someone he can’t see.

He wonders if he’s going insane.

But then one night, they climb into bed with him before he’s fully asleep. Logan’s eyes snap open, and he stares down at the man beside him. 

He’s beautiful. Ethereally so, with golden skin and eyes that shine bright in the darkness. He smiles, at Logan’s gaze, and his teeth are far too white, far too sharp. The smile is intoxicating, the feel of soft hands on Logan’s skin thrilling.

“Who...who are you?” Logan asks, his voice too loud in the quiet.

The man’s smile widens, “ _ Who _ isn’t the question you should be asking, darling. It’s  _ what _ .”

“What are you?”

“Why?” The man, the creature, asks, “Are you scared, Logan?”

Logan swallows. He takes a breath. He considers.

“...no. I’m not.”


	6. Pact

A rustle.

The clang of metal against concrete wall.

A sigh.

“Julian, right? That’s what he called you.”

“Yes. That’s my name.”

“I’m Logan.”

“I know.”

“If we’re going to be stuck here together, we may as well get to know each other, hm?”

“I won’t be here long. My parents will pay the ransom.”

“How do you know he asked for a ransom?”

“Why else would he kidnap us?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have money. That’s a Chopard on your wrist, isn’t it?”

“He didn’t take it. Clearly he doesn’t care about money.”

“Or he just doesn’t know watches.”

“You really think your parents would pay?”

“Anything. Don’t you?”

“...I’m not sure. My stepmother would. My father…”

“You’re his  _ son _ .”

“Still. I don’t know.”

“...well, if I get out of here, I’ll find a way to get you out, too.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

“What if we don’t?”

“I can’t think about that.”

“Maybe we should.”

“What, spend all our time thinking about how we might  _ die _ here?”

“No. Start thinking about how we can save ourselves.”

“Do  _ you _ know how to break out of handcuffs?”

“In theory. If I had a hair barrette…”

“Do you?”

“...well, no.”

“So what, you’ll just break free on brute strength, then? You’ve got nice arms, but I’m pretty sure they can’t break through solid steel.”

“Do you have a better plan?”

“...no. I’ve been trying to...they’re too tight. And he locks that door, when he leaves. There’s no window.”

“I just want to know what he wants.”

“...have you seen the way he looks at me?”

“I...yes. I have.”

“Do you think he’d…”

“No. No he...it wouldn’t make sense. If that’s what he was after, why would I be here, too?”

“I don’t know. None of this makes any sense.”

“I won’t let him, you know. Do...that.”

“Oh? What’ll you do, yell at him until he stops?”

“I’d find a way.”

“Well thank you. For giving a shit.”

“We’re kind of all each other has right now, aren’t we?”

“I guess so.”

"...I'm really glad I'm not alone here. Does that make me awful?"

"No. I'm glad, too."

“It all feels like...I don't know. Like a terrible dream.”

“It does. But you're right. We’ll find a way out of this. I’m smart. You seem smart. We can figure something out. Together.”

“I haven’t been very good at teamwork, historically.”

“We’re not really a  _ team _ , are we? More like...partners.”

“Partners. Sure.”

“We can do it.”

“...yeah. Yeah, I hope so.”


	7. Visitor

The first time Logan sees the cat, he doesn’t think much of it. It isn’t entirely uncommon to see stray cats in the city, and it seems well behaved. It appears to be dozing when Logan steps out of his house, opens its eyes for just a moment to blink sleepily his way. Logan frowns, but the cat doesn't seem to be bothering anyone.

Logan puts it out of his mind. He has classes to focus on, homework to finish.

But when he comes home that night, the cat is still there. It’s in the exact same place, still dozing under the lamplight.

It’s starting to feel a little  _ Harry Potter _ , if he’s being quite honest. He squints at the cat, but the thing doesn’t budge. Its front paws are folded in front of it, in a pose that appears almost human-like.

Strange.

He glances back again, frowning as he stares at the sleeping cat. It seems strange that it would pick  _ his _ doorstep, that it would linger in the same spot all day. But Logan’s never really been an animal person, and he supposes he’s not exactly an expert on the habits of cats. 

The cat stays, for days. For weeks.

It seems to never budge from the stoop, and Logan takes to leaving food scraps for it. The thing seems appreciative.

One night, just as Logan’s preparing for bed, rain begins to fall. The sound draws his attention to the window, and he frowns when he sees the same cat sitting on his stoop, its small head turned upwards. Logan hesitates in the window -- do cats catch colds, like humans do? He stares for a moment, and then moves to his door.

The cat doesn’t budge when Logan steps outside. It almost looks like it’s  _ enjoying _ the rain, its tiny chin tilted skyward as the rain drops onto its face.

“Hey,” Logan says, and the cat turns his way, “What are you doing? Get out of here.”

Logan could swear the cat  _ raises an eyebrow _ at him. But that can’t be possible.

Do cats even  _ have _ eyebrows?

The cat turns away from him, stretching even further upward. It balances on its hind legs, the front ones lifting off the ground as it sways slowly in the rain.

Cats are fucking  _ weird _ .

Logan leaves the thing be. It isn’t there in the morning -- hopefully it finally escaped the weather last night. He finds he almost misses it. He’s gotten used to his strange visitor, kind of enjoyed seeing the weird thing this cat would do next.

One day, a week or so after the cat vanishes, Logan steps outside. There’s a man there, leaning against the bannister that lines the stairs outside. He looks up, and something about his seem startlingly familiar.

“...hi,” Logan says, staring, “Do I know you?”

"I don't think so," the man smiles, holds out a hand, "I'm Julian. It's nice to meet you."


	8. Memory

Julian Larson has the perfect life.

He’s one of the most acclaimed actors in the world, has more awards than he can possibly count. He hadn’t quite made his personal goal of achieving an EGOT by twenty, but he  _ had _ become the youngest winner in history by over a decade. He’s rich, famous, beautiful. 

He has everything he could ever want -- a steady stream of work, great friends, a beautiful girlfriend. 

He’s happy.

There is one odd thing, though. Something he can’t really explain.

Every so often, out of the blue, he’ll see something. A flash of green, or a stranger passing in the street. He’ll hear a soft melody, or a familiar voice. Something happens to him, then. He freezes, like he’s glued into place. It feels as if his mind is trying to pull something free, like he’s struggling to bring forth a long-forgotten memory.

Sometimes, it’s unbearably vivid.

He remembers a moment while filming  _ Blackwater _ , when he’d been training for a swordfight. The other actor had slipped, and his prop sword slid against Julian’s hand. He’d dropped his own weapon not in pain, but in shock, overwhelmed by something he couldn’t quite explain. He could hear someone else’s voice, could feel a hand on his.

Sometimes, he wonders if he’s going crazy.

He tries not to think about it, most days. He’s mentioned it in therapy a few times. But Dr. Edwards always smiles softly at him, tells him it’s a normal reaction to stress, that he isn’t going crazy. He trusts her. He’s been seeing Dr. Edwards since he was a teenager, when his mother began taking him to appointments.

Still, he has the tendency to avoid looking at people when walking through crowds. But when he finds himself in New York for a few months, settling in for his second Broadway run, it becomes a little more difficult. He likes New York, but it’s so crowded.

Carmen seems inclined to keep bodyguards around him, particularly in large cities. He feels like he’s constantly followed around by at least one of them, very frequently with Carmen trotting along behind.

Sometimes, though, he manages to shirk his little following. 

Like today.

He doesn’t plan on being gone long. They’ve been given a break in rehearsals, and he’s craving a coffee so badly. He walks down the block, ducks into a shop to order his latte, and heads back down the street.

That’s when it happens.

As he brings the cup to his lips to take a sip, he makes eye contact with a man on the street. His hair is shockingly blonde, his eyes a bright emerald green, and Julian’s brain short-circuits. His chest hurts, all of a sudden, and he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until the hot coffee spills over his fingers.

“Julian,” the man gasps, staring, “Oh my god,  _ Julian _ .”

He steps forward, and Julian instinctively backs away. He’s just a fan, he tries to tell himself, but for some reason he’s suddenly  _ terrified _ .

“Jules,” the man says again, “Come on, it’s me. Can we...please, Julian, can we go sit down somewhere?”

“I don’t know you.”

The man looks almost hurt, “Don’t, Julian. Look, you’re upset, still. I get it. But don’t pretend you don’t know who I am. Not again.”

“I  _ don’t _ ,” Julian says, still feeling like he might hyperventilate, “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

The man reaches for him, but someone’s suddenly shoving him away, and Julian looks up to see one of his bodyguards, standing beside Carmen.

“Come on, Mr. Larson, let’s get you back to the theatre.”

Julian lets the man lead him down the street, glancing back only for a moment. Carmen’s standing before the stranger on the street, looking remarkably stern as she stares down a man twice her size.

“ _ Don’t _ ,” she hisses, quiet enough that Julian can’t hear, “I think I’ve made myself clear. I  _ will _ pursue legal action.”

“He looked at me like he didn’t even  _ know me _ ,” Logan snaps, with half a mind to shove past her and chase Julian down the street.

“He doesn’t know you,” Carmen says, “And that’s for the best. I won’t warn you again, Wright.”

She turns on her heel, hurrying after her charge. Logan stares at the trio as they walk away. 

He doesn’t care what Carmen says. Not really.

He’s going to keep trying.

He can’t give up.

No matter how many tries it takes.


	9. Dare

It’s stupid, what he’s doing. It’s childish, and immature, and a waste of time. But he’s been at boarding school for six months now, and he’s barely gotten to know anyone. He couldn’t decline the invitation to play this game, not when it meant potentially making friends.

They’re giggling behind him, as he walks up to the gate. He knows they’re filming, likely posting all of this on Snapchat.

But none of them follow when he steps onto the path. He approaches the house alone, glances back to find the other boys huddled on the other side of the fence. 

He isn’t quite sure why he knocks on the door. The house has been abandoned for decades, he knows. 

“Go inside, Manning, what are you waiting for?!” 

Austin takes a deep breath, and pushes the door open.

For a long-abandoned house, it’s remarkably well decorated. He expected the place to be falling apart, expected to find broken furniture and crumbling walls. But the inside is absolutely pristine. The walls are painted a dark red, the furniture a soft cream with gold accents. There are black satin throw pillows on the sofa, a beautiful grand piano in the corner. He turns, eyes widening at the floor-to-ceiling bookcases containing stacks of old-looking books. 

“Wow,” he whispers, stunned.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

The voice startles him, and Austin spins around. There’s a man standing on the winding staircase, smirking down at him. He seems fairly young, but his clothes are remarkably old-fashioned. He almost looks like he’s stepped off a movie set. He’s certainly attractive enough, and Austin freezes as the man walks towards him.

“What do you think about the furniture?” He asks, one slender hand trailing over Austin’s shoulder, “It’s new. I chose it. Logan wasn’t so sure. He thought it might stain.”

“And it will,” says another voice, “If these children keep breaking in like this.”

Another man appears from a nearby doorway. He’s a little taller than the first, with golden hair and piercing green eyes.

“Oh, don’t blame him,” the first man says, “He did knock, after all.”

“I believe it  _ is _ still the etiquette that a lack of answer means we aren’t interested in company.”

Austin swallows, “I’m - I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone lived here. I didn’t want to break in, I just...my friends…”

The first man frowns, “Your friends made you do it?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t want to?”

“N-no.”

“Hm,” the man glances back at the other, who looks exasperated, “They don’t sound like very good friends, do they?”

Austin doesn’t quite know how to answer. It doesn’t seem he’s expected to, because the second man -- Logan? -- speaks first.

“We don’t need another, Julian. He’s just a child.”

“I was just a child.  _ You _ were just a child.”

“Julian.”

“Please? I  _ want _ one.”

The blonde sighs and waves a hand, which seems to be a sign that he’s given in to the brunette’s demands. The man grins, and turns back to Austin, stepping too close.

“We could be very good friends, you know. Do you think you’d like to be friends with us, instead?”

He smiles, and Austin suddenly feels so  _ warm _ . It’s a pleasant feeling, somewhat like what he imagines being drunk might feel like. The man’s fingers brush against his cheek, and Austin’s breath catches.

“Yes,” he gasps, “Friends.”

“Perfect.”

The man’s eyes flash an impossible gold, and his teeth seem to lengthen between his lips, the canines sharpening into points before Austin’s eyes.

  
“We’re going to be  _ very _ good friends, Austin.”


	10. Basement

_ Drip. _

_ Drip.  _

_ Drip. _

Julian’s eyes are trained on the leaking pipe in the corner. It’s the only source of sound down here, the only movement in the dim light. If he stares hard enough, if he lets his eyes go out of focus, he can pretend it’s rain. Something he loves.

Not this.

_ Drip. _

_ Drip. _

_ Drip. _

He’d tried to count, at first. To count the drips like seconds, to add up exactly how long he’s been here.

But eventually, the number grew too big. It made this all feel so much worse, so much lonelier. He’d rather not know how long it’s been.

The lock of the door clicks open. He can hear a chain lift, a second lock open. The door creaks as Adam walks in, and Julian remains quiet.

“I brought food, love,” Adam says, smiling as he holds up a bag, “Roast turkey. Your favorite.”

It had been his favorite, hadn’t it? But he’s eaten it for every meal since he’s been here, and the thought of another sandwich makes him queasy. 

“I want to leave,” Julian says firmly, sure to keep his voice level. Yelling doesn’t work, he’s learned. It only makes Adam angry, “Please, Adam. I want to go home.”

Adam’s smile fades, “I already told you. That isn’t possible.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Julian lies, “I swear. But I can’t just stay here. People will be looking for me.”

“Oh, Julian,” Adam sets the bag down, kneels before him. His hands cup Julian’s chin, and it takes every ounce of control he has to keep from flinching, “Nobody’s looking for you.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“I have friends. I have parents. My manager. You can’t just expect me to disappear and have nobody notice.”

“But they didn’t, Julian, don’t you see?”

Adam looks almost sad, and his hands are gentle as he strokes Julian’s face. Julian winces when those fingers brush across the bruise beneath his eye, and Adam tuts.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have run,” Adam says, “I don’t like hurting you, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Adam pulls away. He looks unhappy, sits back on his heels with a frown.

“I love you, Julian. So much more than any of those others you keep talking about.”

“They’re  _ worried _ , Adam. They’ll come looking for me.”

“I already told you they aren’t. Nobody’s looking. Nobody’s even  _ noticed _ .”

Julian swallows, shakes his head, “I don’t believe you.”

“You told your friend Derek you were planning on leaving, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“And your mother thinks you’re staying at school. Just like your manager. Just like all those co-workers of yours.”

“They aren’t stupid. They’ve noticed.”

“But they  _ haven’t _ , Julian. Here, look -- “

Adam pulls his phone from his pocket. He unlocks it, opens one of his social media apps. He scrolls, turns the phone so Julian can see but can’t touch. There’s a post from Derek -- he’s won another game, won another trophy. Further down, a post from Logan -- something sad, angsty, heartbroken.

“ _ He _ hasn’t even noticed you left,” Adam says, pulling his phone away, “He hasn’t noticed you at all. He’s still pining after Hummel. He doesn’t  _ care _ about you.”

Julian feels tears prickle hotly at his eyes, and his voice shakes.

“That isn’t true.”

Adam sighs. He leaves the bag carrying the sandwich by Julian’s one unchained hand, stands up.

“I see you’re not quite ready yet. I’ll come back in the morning. Maybe you’ll be thinking more clearly tomorrow.”

The door clicks behind him once more, and Julian can hear the multiple locks sliding into place. 

Once more, silence.

_ Drip. _

_ Drip. _

_ Drip. _


	11. Childhood Fear

Some of the nannies had called him precocious. One called him  _ disturbed _ . Another fled in abject terror, claiming he was  _ seeing things, things he shouldn’t be seeing _ .

Logan had learned to be quiet, after that.

He had stopped talking about what he saw in his bedroom. He’d learned not to show fear. But his control of his emotions led to the next nannies calling him  _ cold, callous _ .

He really couldn’t win, could he?

Eventually, he’d grown too old for nannies. There weren’t as many people around to pay attention to him anymore, nobody to notice his eccentricities. 

Then he’d been sent to Dalton, where he could  _ almost _ pretend to be normal. He’d made friends. He’d joined clubs. He’d sang. He’d tried, a little too hard, to make plans that prevented him from coming home for Christmas. But his father’s new girlfriend had  _ insisted _ , and the school had shut down for the holidays.

He inhales deeply, before stepping through the door of his childhood bedroom. He really should ask to move rooms -- they have enough spare bedrooms, after all. But he can’t put this over. He steels himself, sets his hand on the doorknob and pushes it open. 

It looks just the way he’d left it all those months ago. His bed is neatly made, a half-finished book still resting on the nightstand. His keyboard is still set up by the window, and a hunched over figure sits before it. 

Logan takes a breath, “Hello, Julian.”

The figure turns. He looks younger, than Logan remembers. He’d seemed so old when Logan was a child. But now, Logan thinks they might be around the same age. The skin of his face is still warped, half of his features drooped downward as if they’d melted off. The white shirt he wears is tattered, scorch marks tarnishing the pale fabric.

It’s just as frightening a sight as it had been in Logan’s childhood.

“You  _ left _ ,” Julian says, those translucent lips curving into a pout, “You left me all alone for so long.”

“I told you they were sending me to school.”

“It’s just been  _ me _ . All alone. Again. You  _ promised _ , Logan.”

He had, hadn’t he? As a small child, when he’d been frightened and innocent. He’d promised he would be Julian’s friend, that he wouldn’t leave him alone.

_ I’ve been alone so long _ , Julian had told him,  _ promise me you’ll never leave me alone again. _

“I didn’t have a choice. My father told me I had to.”

“You could’ve  _ fought _ ,” Julian says, and the walls shake with his anger, “You  _ promised me _ .”

“I was just a  _ kid _ . I’m still just a kid.”

“ _ So was I! _ ”

The room shudders violently, and then stills. Julian’s face -- the good half -- crumples, and sobs rack his body as he collapses over the keyboard. Logan feels awful, the way he always feels when he upsets Julian. 

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping forward, “Hey, please. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry, Julian.”

Julian sniffs, tilts his head out of his hands to look up at him. With his scars hidden in shadow like this, he’s almost beautiful.

Terrifying, but beautiful.

“I won’t leave you,” Logan says, “Not forever, okay? I’ll always come back.”

Julian clears his throat, brings one hand up to wipe at his tears, “Do you promise?”

“...yes. I promise.”


	12. Hospital

Julian is alive, they tell him. 

They’d been reluctant to give him information. They don’t seem to like him much. But he’d found one. One nurse who was vocal about her disdain, who jabbed the needles into his skin a little too firmly.

“ _ He’s alive,” she’d said, “For now. He hasn’t woken up. They aren’t sure he will. It doesn’t look good.” _

Her voice had been full of vitriol, her eyes accusatory. She blames  _ him _ for it all, he can tell. It’s ridiculous. He would never do anything to hurt Julian. Everything he’d done was  _ for _ Julian.

He isn’t supposed to leave.

There’s a security guard posted at his door. The drugs they give him sedate him enough that he can barely think.

It hurts, working the IV needle out from beneath his skin. He tucks it under the blankets, angles his arm so nobody will see it missing. It takes some time for the sedation to wear off. But when it does, he can think more clearly.

The guard works in shifts. A few hours at a time. But one of them always comes with a full thermos of coffee. Adam can see him, from his bed. The way his leg twitches.The way his hands wring together.

He practically sprints to the restroom, when it’s too much.

And Adam has his chance.

It’s late. Quiet. There aren’t any visitors right now. It’s easier to find Julian. His room is full of flowers, of stuffed animals, of balloons and get-well-soon cards.

Julian -- precious, perfect Julian -- looks so small in his hospital bed. His eyes are closed. Bruises and scars riddle his body. He’s hooked up to countless machines, and a breathing tube forces air into his lungs. 

Adam moves closer. There’s a single bouquet by his bedside, separate from all the rest. Lillies of the valley. They’re ugly, horrid things, and Adam’s fists clench when he sees the card attached, signed from  _ Logan Wright _ .

The vase thuds heavily against the trash can when Adam throws the whole thing out. He hopes it isn’t loud enough for anyone to hear. 

He’d eavesdropped, earlier. Heard the nurses talking about Julian. About how his prognosis didn’t look good. How his heart had stopped once already.

How he was likely to die.

Adam won’t let him die alone.

He draws the curtains that line the outside of the room. He isn’t sure how well the rest will catch, but the fabric, at least, ignites easily. He watches a moment, to ensure the fire doesn’t extinguish. Then he turns back to the bed, crawls in alongside Julian.

His arms slide around the broken body, and his face presses up against Julian’s neck.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, as thick black smoke rises throughout the room, “Don’t worry, Julian. We’re together now.”


	13. Seashore

Logan’s never really liked the sea.

He’s more of a city boy, himself. He hates the way sand finds its way into his shoes, hates the ice-cold water of the Atlantic. He can’t enjoy laying out on the beach like other people do, not when it burns his skin a bright lobster-red. He doesn’t like the way seaweed twines around his legs, the sharp stab of broken shells against his feet.

But Michelle had begged for this vacation, pleaded for him to come along. She’s the only family he really knows, and he couldn’t bear to see the look on her face if he said no.

The water here is warmer than he’s used to. It almost makes the whole thing bearable. He finds ways to enjoy it - he carries a book with him, sets up a large umbrella and reads in the shade as the waves crash before him.

He doesn’t love it. But he tolerates it.

One night, though, after another blowout fight with his father, the sea is all he has. He follows the winding path from the resort, steps out onto the cool sand. The beach is empty this late, his way illuminated by nothing but the moonlight. He steps into the sea, ignoring the way the water soaks his shoes. He wants to scream.

So he does.

His throat aches, and his lungs hurt, and he feels so much better. He stands there, panting, staring off at the horizon.

Something brushes against his leg, and Logan looks down to find a  _ man  _ there. He leaps backward in surprise, cries out.

The man just stares, head tilted to the side. Logan looks back at him. Something about him seems strange, off, and it’s not just the silent approach or the way he lays in the shallow water. He looks young, perhaps late teens, and beautiful. His dark hair curls around his ears, and his eyes shine in the moonlight. His skin has a faint golden sheen to it, and he has tattoos the like of which Logan has never seen -- irridescent spirals, trailing from his brow bone down to his jaw. He shifts, and Logan’s eyes widen.

He has a  _ tail _ .

A huge, fish-like  _ tail _ , deeper gold than his skin, starting just below his navel. 

“Is...is that a costume?” Logan asks. The man doesn’t reply. He tilts his head again, and Logan feels oddly exposed when the man’s eyes trail down his body. 

“How did you get out here?” Logan tries again, “I didn’t hear you. You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

The man, still, is quiet. But he stretches upward, his torso rising from the water. Logan tries desperately not to stare at the exposed skin, the water dripping down toned abs and golden scales. 

“Who  _ are _ you?”

The man smiles. His mouth opens, and a sound comes out. Not a voice. Not words. But something ethereal, a music so beautiful Logan feels his limbs turn to jelly. It consumes him, that song, and suddenly the man is all he knows.

He isn’t fully in control of himself, as he follows the man into the water. There’s a hand firmly grasping his own, pulling him deeper and deeper until his feet no longer touch. The man’s song stops, and Logan almost remembers himself. But then those soft lips are pressed against his, those hands firm in his hair.

He slips beneath the waves.

Logan's never really liked the sea.

Now, it's all he knows.


	14. Resurrection

It’s an elaborate affair. The hall is bathed in flowers -- orchids, thankfully, rather than roses. The photograph isn’t just life-sized, it’s larger than life, takes up half the wall it hangs on. There’s hundreds of people there, sobbing into lace handkerchiefs, falling dramatically over church pews and reminiscing in small groups.

Yes, Julian Larson’s funeral is just as dramatic as he is.

_ Was _ .

Unlike the others, Logan doesn’t shed a tear. He’s spent too long crying already. There aren’t any tears left in his body, he thinks. Instead, he sits in the pew numb, silent and drugged. Derek’s trembling beside him, and Logan feels the other boy clinging to his hand.

When the memorial ends, the others stand. Logan stays where he is, firmly planted to the seat. Derek gives him an inquisitive look, but when Logan shakes his head he moves along, no doubt thinking Logan needs a few moments of privacy to mourn.

He’s alone in the hall, or so he thinks.

Someone slips into the seat beside him. There’s silence for a few moments, and neither of them look towards each other. Instead, they stare straight ahead, two pairs of eyes focused on Julian’s photo.

“I looked into it,” Dwight Houston says, quietly, “I think I know where I went wrong, last time I tried. I think I can make it work. But it needs to be soon.”

“Tonight,” Logan says, and Dwight nods.

They hadn’t agreed on a time, but Dwight’s waiting at the cemetery when Logan arrives. He’s brought two shovels with him, and they dig in silence. The work isn’t difficult, not with how fresh the grave is. The dirt is loose, and Logan’s shovel clangs against the coffin soon enough.

He freezes a moment, when the coffin is opened. It almost looks like Julian’s sleeping. But Logan’s never seen him lay out like this -- he usually curls onto one side, his arm pillowed beneath his head. He must be uncomfortable like this.

“Step aside,” Dwight says firmly, “I need room.”

“We’re doing this here?”

“I figured it’s easiest. It shouldn’t take long, if it goes well.”

Logan climbs out of the grave. He watches Dwight work, watches as he draws strange symbols on Julian’s hands and forehead with a dark red liquid he takes from a small jar. Logan doesn’t know where he got it. He doesn’t particularly want to know.

“There’s a candle, in my bag,” Dwight says when he’s done, “And matches. Light one for me. Two for you.”

Logan finds the candles. Lights them. He passes one to Dwight, who stands at Julian’s feet. He holds two himself, stands at Julian’s head and holds one in each hand.

Dwight begins to chant. Something in a language Logan doesn’t understand, something that sends chills down his spine. His voice grows louder as he repeats the word, and Logan  _ swears _ the wind picks up as he shouts the words.

But the flames of the candles don’t flicker.

In fact, the flames seem to  _ expand _ , lengthening, brightening as Dwight screams out the words one last time.

In unison, all three flames extinguish. The wind slows, then stops. It’s eerily silent, suddenly, and the two boys stare down into the coffin.

Julian’s eyes open.

  
“Oh my god,” Dwight breathes, “It  _ worked _ .”


	15. Woods

It’s a little too cliche that he’d chosen today to wear a red hoodie. 

It’s an odd thought to have as he runs through the forest. He’s always had a flair for dramatics, a love for theatrics. But  _ this _ ?

He could do without this.

_ You know, my dear, it isn’t safe to walk through these woods alone. _

He’s more athletic than people give him credit for. He’s been doing his own stunts since he was a child, after all. But he’s been running through the trees for ages now, and it’s starting to take a toll. His breath is coming in shallow gasps, and his legs are becoming increasingly difficult to lift. It doesn’t help that the forest floor is uneven, that his ankles keep twisting over tree roots and stones.

Despite the lengthy head start he’d been given, he can already hear the pounding of footsteps behind him. They’re impossibly fast, and he knows he won’t be able to evade them for much longer. He takes a sharp turn to the right, hopes it might buy him a little bit more time. 

_ Did you really think you could run with the wolves? _

There’s a creek, up ahead. Julian splashes through it, emerges on the other side and hopes the water will wash off his scent for just a little while. He struggles up a sharp hill, pushes through a thick patch of bramble and keeps on.

He’s tired. He’s so, so tired, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. His legs are sore, and his ankle throbs, and the footsteps behind him don’t hesitate even a moment. He’s not going to make it.

_ You’re too pretty for your own good, darling. _

There’s a tree up ahead. Large, with sturdy branches. Maybe he can climb it, can escape using height instead of speed…

Something large and heavy strikes him, right in the center of his back. He tumbles to the ground, rolls himself over and scurries backward, his eyes wide.

The wolf towers over him, its eyes glowing in the moonlight. It raises its head skyward, lets out a howl that has Julian covering his ears. Then, it steps forward, until it’s standing over him. Julian’s panting, gasping for air, staring at the creature. Its fur is snow-white, its eyes a piercing shade of green. Its huge, and Julian knows he could be dead in an instant.

_ Foolish boy, to chase danger _ .

Those large jaws open, and the pointed teeth seem almost to  _ smile _ at him. As Julian lies there, prone beneath the wolf, it lowers its head, licks a long line from Julian’s collarbone, up his neck to his temple. Julian closes his eyes.

He doesn’t feel the wolf shift. But he hears it, the loud snapping of bone that always accompanies the transformation. The mouth that presses to his skin now is soft, smaller, the teeth far less frightening. 

“You were faster, that time,” Logan says, and Julian can hear the pride in his voice, “You’ve never made it this far before.”

“Maybe one day I’ll beat you.”

Logan chuckles, a warm, soft sound, and Julian opens his eyes. The man over him is naked, sweaty, with scars criss-crossed over his arms. The snow-white fur of the wolf is replaced by blonde hair, though the piercing green eyes remain the same. Logan lowers himself, sinking down until his body presses tight against Julian’s. He’s impossibly hard, and Julian knows Logan feel the same.

“Did that happen before I turned, darling?”

Julian feels his face heat, “Shut up. You’re the one who did this to me.”

Logan smirks. He grips Julian’s hoodie in one hand. Before Julian can protest, the fabric rips cleanly in half, and Logan quickly does the same to his jeans. The autumn air is cold against his skin, but he doesn’t quite mind. Not with Logan pressed so close, his mouth against Julian’s neck, his hands... _ oh _ .

_ Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf _ ?


	16. Cursed

It starts with Cameron Pike.

Of course Julian loves him. He’s young, just starting to understand his sexuality, and Cameron is beautiful. He doesn’t talk down to Julian like so many of the others. He treats him like a  _ person _ , like a real adult, and it makes something new and exciting flutter in Julian’s chest. He kisses him, just that once, and Julian is smitten.

Two weeks later, Lacey Pike gets sick. Julian doesn’t know, at first, why Cameron seems so worried all of a sudden. Why his brows furrow every time he glances at his phone, why he keeps slipping away from work. But then Cameron tells him. He needs someone to talk to, he said, and Julian’s heart swells at the knowledge that  _ he _ ’s the one Cameron trusts.

Cancer, Cameron tells him. His tiny, innocent baby sister.

Julian doesn’t put it together, of course. How could he? It’s just a one-off thing, a tragedy that strikes at a terrible time.

But there are others, after that. 

Sweet, kind Clark Sawyer, who treats him so tenderly. Whose large hands feel so nice against his skin, who kisses Julian until his head swims.

How could anyone not fall in love with a boy like that?

They aren’t quite dating, when it happens. They’re in that strange, in-between phase, where nothing is concrete and everything is exciting. They’re curled up together on Clark’s sofa when it happens, and Julian reluctantly climbs out of Clark’s lap so he can answer the knock on the door.

The men are dressed in uniform. Julian knows what that means, from the movies. He watches, frozen, as Clark collapses, as his mother comes to the door curious about the commotion. She keeps herself together just a moment longer, until the men speak, and then she’s on the floor too, sobbing along with her son.

Still, twice is only a coincidence, isn’t it?

Sebastian is different. He’s wild, and uninhibited, and he doesn’t want anything serious. He made that clear the very night they met. Julian doesn’t have any problems with that -- or so he tells himself.

Despite all that, he falls. 

He gives Sebastian everything, over and over, tangles together with him in silk sheets and laughs over French coffee. He laughs, and he loves, and it feels like nothing can take this feeling away.

So of course, the world does.

He sees Sebastian slipping a second before he actually falls. Julian reaches out, desperately, but Sebastian’s tumbling off the bridge before Julian can grab him. It was stupid, what they were doing, leaping onto pillars and dancing on railings. Stupid, and dangerous, and Sebastian’s loud cry when he falls is the worst sound Julian’s ever heard.

The doctors say he’ll never walk again. He’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, and Julian blames himself. Sebastian does, too. At least, that’s what Julian assumes. The boy won’t actually speak to him, anymore.

His mother gives him the answer he’s been waiting for, when he comes home with red-rimmed eyes and a grief he can’t hide.

“They say it’s a curse, in our family,” she says, “From generations ago. Anyone we love...bad things happen to them, Julian. I hoped you’d be different.”

“But -- dad,” Julian says, shaking his head, “Nothing bad happened to him.”

Dolce’s face is full of sorrow, “Because I didn’t love him, darling. Not really. The man I did love -- he isn’t here anymore.”

The solution is easy, Julian decides. He won’t love. He can live a full life without it, just like his mother. He can marry, as she did, as long as he isn’t in love. He can be successful. He won’t let anyone into his heart again.

The day he meets Logan Wright, he knows he’s going to struggle. Logan is the most beautiful thing Julian’s ever seen, with his piercing eyes and the voice of an angel. Julian pushes him away immediately, keeps him at arm's length and swears to himself that he won’t do this again. 

But Logan creeps on him, no matter his efforts.

The day Logan kisses him, Julian knows it’s over. He melts in Logan’s arms, falls apart at his touch.

And for a time, it seems everything is going to be okay.

It lasts far longer than the others. Julian’s happier than he’s ever been before, actually has something that could be considered a relationship for the first time in his life. Logan stays at his house more nights than he stays at his own, and they spend nearly every moment together.

Every day, Julian falls harder.

Finally, Julian begins to think that the whole curse thing is only a legend. A self-fulfilling prophecy, something generations of his family brought upon themselves by believing in it. But he doesn’t have to follow in their footsteps. He can be the change, be the first to actually attain happiness.

He stops for flowers on his way home -- nothing wild, just a small bouquet of forget-me-nots, to put in the vase on Logan’s piano.

It takes up just enough time that he’s too late. The firetrucks are already there, the police already chasing away bystanders. Julian can see the smoke from blocks away. The street is blocked off to traffic, and he leaves his car running as he sprints past the trucks, past the officers shouting.

“My  _ boyfriend _ is in there!” Julian shouts, just before an explosion rattles the whole neighborhood. He watches in shock, in horror, as the entire structure collapses in on itself. Wherever Logan is, there’s no way he survived that.

They wrap him in a shock blanket, after. They sit him down, softly tell him it was a gas leak, a freak accident, that it was nobody’s fault.

But Julian knows better.

_ He _ did this.

He let himself love again, and now Logan is dead.

All of this -- Lacey Pike, Levi Sawyer, Sebastian,  _ Logan _ \-- is all his fault.

He won’t make this mistake again.

Julian Larson will never love again.


	17. Whisper

When Julian speaks, it’s in a whisper.

It makes Logan feel special, when he does it. Like he’s important, different. He’s the only one Julian whispers too. He’ll lean in, until his lips nearly brush Logan’s skin, speaks words only for Logan to hear.

“ _ They have no idea what they’re doing. Everybody knows you deserve that solo, Lo. You’re better than all the rest of them put together _ .”

He feels a little better about losing his solo, after that. It had hurt, when the rest of the group voted against him, when not a single person raised their hand for him. But Julian sings with him anyway, sits at the piano and harmonizes to the solo Logan should have had. 

_ “It’s not you he hates. It’s himself. He hates himself, and he’s taking it out on you because he doesn’t have anyone else. He knows you’re more than he could ever be _ .”

Logan always turns to Julian after fights with his dad. He’d tried Derek, before, but his advice was always to ignore it, and sometimes he can’t. Sometimes he needs Julian instead, needs to be reassured that his father doesn’t actually despise him. That he’s not actually a disappointment. Sometimes, he even believes Julian’s words.

_ “He’s an idiot for not wanting you. How could anyone not want your attention? He isn’t good enough for you anyway, Logan. None of them are _ .”

That whisper comes more than once, unfortunately. Every single time he’s rejected by a boy, every time a potential relationship ends in flames, Julian’s there to comfort him. He knows just what to say, knows exactly what Logan needs to hear to stop hating himself.

_ “It’s not worth it, Logan. I know you’re angry. I know you want to hurt them. But it isn’t worth it. Take a breath. Come on. Let’s go, okay _ ?”

Julian’s the only one willing to talk to him when he’s like this. The only one who tries to calm him down, who encourages him to loosen his fist and walk away.It isn’t always effective. Sometimes, the anger is too much for him. Sometimes, it makes him do awful things. They demand he see a therapist for it, one he hates, one he doesn’t want to talk to.

He doesn’t like to talk to therapists. He doesn’t need a psychiatrist, doesn’t need more medication to change his behavior. He tells the doctor just that, and she hums, makes a note in her pad.

“I’m not crazy,” Logan insists, “I just get angry sometimes. Julian says it’s because people don’t understand me.”

The pen lowers, and the doctor looks up, “Julian? That’s the actor, right?”

“My friend, yes.”

She closes her pad and leans forward. Her forearms press against her thighs, and she smiles. But she doesn’t look happy.

“Mr. Wright, I thought we’d finished with this. Julian isn’t real, remember? He’s never been real.”

“Of course he’s fucking  _ real _ ,” Logan snaps, “I’m seventeen fucking years old, I don’t have imaginary friends anymore.”

“According to your doctors in New York, Julian manifested when you were about five, is that correct? Around the time your parents said they were getting divorced.”

“I met him at a party,” Logan corrects, “Some gala...thing. We were at the crafts table together. We fingerpainted.”

“You fingerpainted alone, Mr. Wright. Don’t you remember them showing you the video?”

“They must not have filmed when he was there.”

The therapist sighs. She looks tired, “I’ll make an adjustment to your medication. We’ll work through this together. I promise you. I’d like to see you again on Thursday. I’ll contact the school.”

She scrawls something on her prescription pad, tears off a sheet and hands it over. Logan takes it, silently, stares at the unfamiliar scribble of letters.

_ “You don’t need it. You know you don’t. You aren’t crazy. You’ve never been crazy. They just don’t understand. Don’t take them, Logan. The pills. Don’t take them. _ ”

Julian’s never steered him wrong before.


	18. Followed

The rain came just once every year, in the third week in June.

The first time was a surprise -- nobody had seen rain for as long as they could remember. Perhaps they never had at all. When those first drops of water fell from the skies, the whole village stepped outside to watch. 

Only Logan saw the boy that came with it. Young, perhaps around Logan’s own seventeen years, and beautiful. He walked slowly, his hands outstretched, palms catching the droplets. He saw Logan, and he smiled.

Nobody saw, when Julian took his hand. When he lead him away, when they fell together over and over. They didn’t eat. They didn’t sleep. But Logan found he didn’t need that sort of thing. Not with Julian. They became one, together. They kissed, and they touched, and they did more than Logan ever imagined.

And all throughout, it rained.

On the seventh day, Logan awoke to silence. The rain had gone.

And so had Julian.

For a time, Logan believed he must have imagined it. That the rain had brought with it some kind of madness, something that colored his dreams and tainted his reality. But the others said nothing of the sort, hadn’t noticed anything other than a week straight of run. It filled the creeks, topped off the wells, sprouted flowers and grass and trees.

But things returned to normal soon enough. The sun rose, and it set, and night came. But the rain did not.

Not until the following June, in the third week.

For the second time, the village awoke to the sound of rain. They rejoiced, watched as it filled the creeks, topped off the wells, soaked the soil. 

Only Logan looked for the boy. He looked the same, when he smiled, and once again Logan wondered if it was real.

But it _ felt _ real, when they slipped together. Julian gave him everything, and Logan gave it all back. 

And once again, on the seventh day, he woke alone.

He grew accustomed to it over the years. To the inevitable third week in June, to the seven days of Julian. To the waking alone, after seven days.

In the fifth year, Logan asked Julian to stay.

And Julian did, for a time.

Julian remained in Logan’s bed, and the rain continued. It flooded the creeks, it overfilled the wells, drowned the flowers and grass and trees. The people panicked, grew angry in the streets and cursed the rain.

They had watched it all together, hand-in-hand. Julian had smiled, but it was sad this time. He pushed up on his toes, pressed a kiss to Logan’s cheek.

And he left.

And the rain stopped.

The others rejoiced, as Logan mourned. The endless downpour was gone, but so was Julian. For the first time in his life, Logan knew what heartbreak was.

The next year, he did not ask Julian to stay.

They took their seven days, and then Logan woke alone.

He never asked why again. He never asked Julian to stay again. He never asked what it all meant.

But every year, he looked forward to June. To the third week. To the day the rain would come.

And the day Julian would follow.


	19. Hunger

Nothing is ever enough to soothe Julian’s appetite.

He had thought Hollywood might be enough, that the seedy underbelly of Los Angeles would provide him with all that he needed. But the more he took, the hungrier he became. 

He’s tried so many. Cameron had sufficed, for a time. Clark had introduced him to Haven, and that had lasted for quite some time. But it hadn’t been  _ enough _ .

He’s always hungriest when he’s at Dalton. It isn’t really surprising -- he hasn’t had the boldness to find someone stable, someone he can use on a regular basis. When the hunger gets too great, he targets strangers. Nameless men who look too long in bars, faceless women who melt at his touch.

But it’s never enough.

It’s awful, today. The hunger pulls on his insides, screams from within. He’s seen his reflection in the mirror. He looks like a corpse, the way his cheeks hollow and his eyes dip. 

And someone notices.

Logan looks angry when he comes to the door. He’s shouting things, accusing Julian of things he hasn’t done. Julian catches snippets --  _ taking care of yourself _ ,  _ for a movie again?, going to DIE, Julian… _

But  _ god _ , is Logan distracting. It’s so hard to focus on his words when he smells like this. When he  _ looks _ like this.

Julian’s so hungry…

Logan looks surprised, when Julian pulls him inside. When he presses up against him, pushes their mouths together.

Soon enough, though, Logan melts like all the others. Julian sees the familiar haze take over his eyes, the way he seems to move despite himself. He falls to the sheets so beautifully, stares up at Julian with blown pupils and parted lips as Julian lowers himself.

It’s not enough. It’s never quite enough, with any of them. But Julian can feel his skin firming, knows his hair has grown silkier and his body has grown stronger.

It should tide him over, for now.

But after, Logan does something no one else has done. He rolls over, the haze gone from his eyes, a strange look on his face.

“I don’t know what that was,” he says, “But could we do it again?”

Julian’s used to wearing his victims out. He’s used to them falling into a deep sleep after. He’s accidentally gone too far, before, left them too weak and drained. He’s never had one ask for  _ more _ .

Maybe Logan’s strong enough. Maybe Logan can handle him. Maybe he’s finally what Julian’s been looking for.

Julian smiles, rests a hand on Logan’s face.

“Not now,” he says, and Logan’s mouth curls into a pout, “I don’t want to hurt you. But yes, we  _ will _ be doing that again.”

Maybe, just maybe, Logan can finally end his hunger.


	20. Trap Door

The audience loves him.

They always do. He lives for their reaction, the applause after every song, the laughter at every joke, the dismayed gasps in the final act.

His death scene.

It’s dramatic, perhaps even overly so -- he’s shot, with a prop gun of course, and he staggers around the stage clutching at his heart, gasps out his last line before he vanishes, disappears below with the help of a craftily-conceived trap door nestled into the stage.

He looks forward to this scene, every time. Not just for the shocked reactions of the audience, or the adrenaline-filled fall through the stage floor. But for the aftermath, when large hands help him off the landing pad, when a beautiful man smiles down at him.

“You were perfect, Jules. As always.”

Logan pulls him to his feet, brushes the dust off his shoulders and kisses him so soundly Julian’s toes curl. 

This.

This is why he does it, night after night. For the promise of Logan after, for the brief stolen moments beneath the stage. That’s all he ever gets -- stolen moments, quick kisses before Logan’s running off again, escaping before they can be caught.

It wouldn’t be proper for a Marquis to be caught cavorting with an actor, after all. 

Julian understands the need for secrecy, of course. Logan’s father keeps him on a tight leash already, concerned about the effect his behavior might have on the family. Logan’s the only son, after all, and the reputation of the Wright line will one day rest solely on his broad shoulders. 

Still, Julian dreams of a world where they can love openly. Where Logan can join him on stage after the performance, can hand him flowers and kiss him the way he kisses him beneath the stage.

Perhaps one day, when Logan’s father is gone. When the world is a little more welcoming.

For now, he’ll settle for this.

The gunshot rings out. Julian’s hand clutches his side, and the audience gasps as he staggers forward. His mouth opens, but the final line remains unspoken, tonight.

The trap door opens.

And Julian falls.

It’s not on a landing pad, this time. Tonight, the pad has been removed. Julian’s legs crumple beneath him, and he’s sure he hears the sounds of bone cracking against the cold floor. But that pain is secondary, now, to the still-bleeding wound in his gut.

Footsteps near, and Julian’s breath hitches as he stares up at the tall blonde man before him.

“So,” John Wright says, staring down with thinly-veiled contempt, “You’re the one who means to ruin my son.”

Julian opens his mouth, wanting desperately to retort. But the combined pain of the gunshot and the fall is too much, and he cries out instead.

“You won’t die,” Wright says, looking a little displeased by the fact, “They’ll come looking for you soon enough. But let this serve as a warning. You are not to touch my son again. You are not to look at him. You are not to  _ think _ of him. I assure you, tonight could have gone much worse for you.”

He tosses something to the ground -- the prop gun, Julian knows, that he no doubt found a way to replace prior to the final scene. He casts one final, disgusted look Julian’s way, and then he’s off, the soles of his shoes echoing through the darkness.

Julian doesn’t perform the next night, of course. Not with his side still oozing and the bones of his legs shattered. 

His role is taken over by a newcomer. A boy who’s been eyeing Julian’s spot since the day he arrived, a boy with a voice like a canary. The audience loves him.

Julian wonders if Logan will, too.


	21. Missing

The soles of his sneakers squeak when he shifts, and his head is starting to throb from the constant buzz of the fluorescent lights. The metal table is cool beneath his skin, but the air in the room is hot and sticky.

“Once again, Mr. Wright, I’m going to ask you -- what, exactly, happened the last time you saw Julian Larson?”

Logan sighs, “I told you, I don’t remember. Someone switched out my pills -- “

“The pills you take for anger management problems, correct?”

“Yes,” Logan says, for the hundredth time, “And they made me...confused. The Warblers -- that’s my show choir, before you ask again -- said Julian came and got me, that he took me back to my room. I don’t even remember that part. I just remember waking up after.”

“After Julian Larson went missing.”

“He’s not  _ missing _ ,” Logan says, rolling his eyes, “He does this all the time. He just takes off back to California without saying a word to anyone.”

“His mother hasn’t heard from him, either,” the detective says, “His car is still in the school parking lot. His suitcase is still in his room. And his phone was found under  _ your _ bed. Care to explain that?”

Logan frowns. He crosses and uncrosses his legs.

“Maybe he dropped it…?” he offers, “He doesn’t really take good care of his things.”

“Sounds to me like you aren’t all that fond of him.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“We have several witnesses who state they’ve seen or heard you and Mr. Larson fighting, recently.”

“Friends fight.”

“They say there was a lot of yelling. And your records show that sometimes your fights turn violent.”

Logan’s starting to feel uncomfortable, “I didn’t hurt him, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” 

“Then how would you explain the blood found outside your room?”

“...blood?”

“We suspect it belongs to Julian Larson. It’s a fair bit. I’m just waiting on the lab results.”

Logan’s own blood runs cold. He swallows, licks his lips.

“I think I want my lawyer,” he says. His voice sounds odd. Not quite like himself. It’s weaker, more childlike.

“I’m sure your father’s well on his way to arranging for one,” the detective says, “It won’t really change anything. You’ve given me plenty. You were the last person to see Larson before his disappearance. His phone was in your room. His blood was at your door. You’d been fighting.”

“Not like  _ that _ ! I would never  _ hurt _ him!”

“You’ve hurt others though, haven’t you? It’s why the school expelled you last year.”

“That was different.”

“Mm-hm. I’m sure it was.”

The detective’s phone buzzes on the table, and he glances at the incoming message. He looks pleased with what he reads, stands up and levels a stern look Logan’s way.

“The lab came back positive. As did the fingerprints.”

“Fingerprints…?”

“Yours. On a knife, found in the bushes outside your school. A knife that  _ also _ held Larson’s DNA. Please stand up, Mr. Wright. Hands behind your back.”

Logan does so, numbly. He hears the clink of metal, feels the sharp pain of handcuffs cinching around his wrists. The detective is still speaking, but Logan can’t focus.

He hadn’t hurt Julian. He knows he wouldn’t.

But he  _ had _ been the last to see him, hadn’t he? They  _ had _ argued, earlier, and Logan knows he can easily lose control when he’s angry. But he can’t remember. He doesn’t know what happened after they left Warblers Hall, doesn’t know what he did on the way back to Stuart. He can’t explain why Julian’s blood was in his room, why his own fingerprints were found on a weapon.

He hadn’t hurt Julian.

Had he?

From across the street, Adam Clavell watches as Senator Wright jogs up the steps of the police station, his pretty little wife at his heels. He knows they must know by now, that the police must have found the evidence he’d planted. He smiles.

In the backseat of the car, Julian stirs. He won’t wake, not yet. Adam glances back, makes sure his hasty bandage work is still holding. Julian doesn’t appear to be bleeding again. Adam reaches back, lets the pads of his fingers trail across the sleeping boy’s cheek.

His work isn’t quite done, yet.


	22. Poltergeist

Julian tells him it’s nothing. That the house is old, that it creaks. That it’s always made the noises, that it’s just the persistent draft that knocks things over sometimes.

Logan tries to believe him. He really does. This is the most serious relationship he’s ever been in, and he  _ loves _ Julian. He’d been ecstatic to move in with him. 

But it all just feels  _ off _ .

He hears the noises. The distinct sound of footsteps, when he knows Julian isn’t home. Strange smells, something acrid that makes him want to choke, that disappears before he can find the source. The day after he moves in, he wakes to this things rummaged through, his drawers emptied.

Julian swears it wasn’t him.

Logan believes him.

But there must be  _ something _ . The wind can’t do that. He  _ sees _ things, sometimes -- the shadow of a movement, the flash of something just outside of his line of sight. 

He’s alone in the house, again, when a book falls from a high shelf in the living room. It’s an old, battered copy of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ , and when Logan opens it he finds Julian’s name scrawled in the front cover, a date from several years ago. Logan does the math -- Julian was in high school, at the time, either in his junior or senior year. He flicks through the pages, and freezes.

When Julian comes home, Logan has the photograph in his hand. Julian stills, then sighs, as if he knew this was coming.

“Who is this?” Logan demands, holding up the photograph. Julian smiles, from the faded paper. Younger, but just as beautiful. Behind him stands another boy -- a little taller, just as young, not beautiful. He’s smiling too, but his has an edge to it. His arms are wrapped too tight around Julian’s waist, his fingers spread around Julian’s hips.

“My ex,” Julian says, honestly, “From high school.”

“The one who gave you that scar?”

Julian’s hand lifts to his neck, his fingers brushing the raised skin. He never talks about it, of course. Logan had only gotten the briefest of answers from him, long ago.

_ A bad boyfriend _ .

“Yes,” Julian admits, and Logan’s fists clench.

“It’s him, Julian. The one going through your things. The one creeping around. I swear, Jules, I’ve  _ seen _ him. That night I said I saw someone in the yard, and you told me I was imagining it? It was him. I know it was.”

Julian stares at him, unblinking, “He’s dead, Logan.”

“Are you sure?”

“He killed himself the night I broke up with him. I saw his body, Lo. I went to his funeral.”

“No,” Logan shakes his head, “I  _ swear  _ this is who I saw.”

Julian sighs. He steps forward, pulls the photograph from Logan’s fingers and places it gingerly back in the book.

“You’re imagining it. There’s nobody sneaking in. You’ve never seen him. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you.”

Logan wants to argue, but Julian’s cupping his face, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his lips. He turns, after, until his mouth just barely brushes Logan’s ear.

“You can’t snoop anymore,” Julian whispers, his voice soft as a gentle breeze, “He doesn’t like it.”

Logan tenses in his arms, but Julian’s hands squeeze lightly. A warning.

“He won’t hurt you. I promise. He just wants me to be happy.”

Julian pulls away, smiling as if he hasn’t just uttered the most terrifying thing Logan’s ever heard. He steps back, places the book back on the shelf it came from. When he speaks again, his tone is bright, the emotion fake.

“Stop being so paranoid, Logan. We’re supposed to be  _ happy _ . We are happy, aren’t we?”

The air seems to grow colder. Logan swallows, nods.

“Yes,” he says, “We’re happy.”


	23. Killer

Logan collects beautiful things.

He remembers when it started. He was young, just a teenager. Blaine was his name. Not the prettiest, but the first. Logan was drawn to his voice, sweet like honey. To the brightness of his eyes, to the innocence of his smile.

He didn’t look so pretty with Logan’s hands tight around his throat. Those bright eyes bulge, that smooth skin turns a deep red, shifts to a sickly blue. His fingers scrambl at Logan’s hands, desperately seeking release.

In death, he is beautiful.

That first one is messy. Amateur. Unpracticed. Choking hadn’t been the best course of action, he knows that now. It’s messy. Ugly.

He needs something smoother.

Joshua is next. 

Logan makes plans this time. He considers his options, evaluates every possibility. But Joshua himself chooses, the night he suggests a moonlit swim in the lake. There’s a sly look on his face when he says it, and Logan knows he’s thinking of something a little more than just a swim.

He has no idea the idea he’s given Logan.

There’s still that initial struggle, of course. Joshua laughs when Logan pushes him under, at first, thinking it’s some sort of game. Soon enough, he begins to panic, and his fingers wrap tight around Logan’s wrists. He kicks, but Logan’s stronger.

The world is quiet when Joshua stops moving. Logan holds a few moments longer. When he lets go, Joshua floats to the surface. His eyes have closed, and his lips are parted.

He is beautiful.

Kurt, like Blaine, pulls Logan in through song. His voice is soft, sweet, innocent. He flushes a pretty pink at Logan’s attention, turns away in embarrassment when Logan flirts. 

Logan enjoys those blushes. So he plays, for a time. He  _ courts _ . He kisses Kurt’s hand, and he treats him to dinner, and he buys him pretty presents.

He cooks, for the first time in his life. A pasta, covered in thick sauce and topped with fresh herbs.

Kurt’s plate, of course, has a little more than just herbs.

It happens slowly. He slips away in Logan’s arms. Logan watches it happen, listens to the moment his breath halts and his heart stops.

He is still, and he is beautiful.

It takes some time to find the next one. He’s grown more discerning, more critical of his selections. His urges are no longer easily satisfied. He needs someone special, something extraordinary. 

Julian Larson is perfect.

His features are perfect, his talent unmatched. His wit challenges even Logan, and Logan can’t help but be drawn in by that smile of his.

He lasts a little longer. 

Logan can’t quite decide what to do with him. He decides to just  _ enjoy _ things, for a time, to relish in Julian’s attentions. It’s intoxicating, to have that laser-focus centered on  _ him _ . 

The idea comes early. Julian follows him inside that first night, lets Logan press his mouth against soft skin. Logan slides away from his mouth, kisses those sharp cheekbones, the shell of his ear, the lines of his jaw. It’s when he moves to Julian’s neck, though, that Julian makes that  _ noise _ .

It’s not quite a moan, not quite a whimper. It’s soft, and it’s needy, and it’s  _ beautiful _ . 

Logan chases that sound. He rests a hand against that neck when they stand together, presses kisses against it when they sit. He digs his teeth into it as Julian moans beneath him. He draws blood, once, and expects to be reprimanded. But Julian sees the mark the next morning and he  _ laughs _ .

It’s going to be messy.

He’d sworn he wouldn’t do messy again. That he’d be more careful. But he  _ wants _ , in a way he’s never quite wanted before.

Julian’s so open, beneath him. So trusting. He gasps, and he moans, and he  _ trusts _ .

He never sees Logan’s hand slip beneath the pillow. He never sees the knife cradled in Logan’s palm. He never sees the flash of silver just before Logan drags the blade against his throat.

It isn’t messy.

Not really.

It’s  _ perfect. _

Julian’s eyes widen, for a brief moment. His lips part, and he gasps, brokenly. Blood spills across his throat, pours in rivulets onto the white sheets below him. He looks up, eyes seeking Logan’s.

His eyes stay open. They lose that focus, but they’re still directed Logan’s way. Those shimmering gold flecks gleam in the light, and those full pink lips are parted so wonderfully. Logan presses a hand to that soft neck, pushes his fingers into the deep red.

“ _ Beautiful _ ,” he breathes.


	24. Voice

Logan’s  _ gift  _ had been discovered at a young age, the first time he raised his voice to make a demand of his nanny. Those around him had been concerned, worried, terrified. His mother had grown so frightened she had run away entirely, never to be heard from again.

So Logan learns to conceal it. 

He learns to hide it, to control it.

Sometimes, he fails. It’s a poor mix, his gift and his anger, and far too often he finds himself shouting something he doesn’t mean, giving an order that can’t be disobeyed. It’s a thrilling sort of power for a teenage boy, and sometimes he finds himself using it for his own benefit.

“ _ Go out with me _ ,” he says to Blaine Anderson, and the poor boy has no choice in the matter. Logan sees the way the familiar haze takes over Blaine’s eyes, the confused hesitation before he agrees. He’s so proud, that first night, with the pretty new boy on his arm. He can almost ignore the guilt. 

But of course, the effects of his gift are never permanent. The powers weaken in time, and Blaine’s gazes start to look suspicious, confused.

The guilt grows as the suspicion mounts, and Logan doesn’t even think about using his gift when Blaine breaks up with him.

_ “Come to bed with me _ ,” with Joshua. He’s hurt, and he’s lonely, and he needs someone to hold him. He knows Joshua is interested, knows he didn’t even really need to use his gift.

But he had. And he sees that same look take over Joshua’s eyes. That confusion, that fear. This time, Logan ends things before the suspicion comes. 

For a time, he grows quiet. He barely speaks, for fear he might accidentally unleash it. It sickens him now, makes him feel like something disgusting, something  _ evil _ . 

When it happens again, it’s an accident.

_ “Sing with me _ ,” he says, and Julian’s head lifts from the mattress. That haze passes through his eyes, and then he smiles, stands, drifts over to the piano and sits down beside Logan. He sings, and Logan plays, and when it’s over Julian smiles. There’s no fear, no confusion, no suspicion.

“ _ Sing with me _ ,” he says, and Julian’s script falls from his hands. He remains where he sits this time, but he raises his voice with Logan’s nonetheless. When it’s over, Julian smiles. 

_ “Sing with me _ ,” and that furrow between Julian’s brows smooth. He’d looked upset, earlier, but now he leans against the piano, stares at Logan’s hands as he sings. When it’s over, he smiles.

“ _ Sing with me _ ,” and Julian stares. He’s already at the piano, has already asked Logan to play. Logan waits for the haze, for the familiar look that passes over the face of every person he speaks to. It doesn’t come. Still, Julian sings. He smiles.

He never wonders. He doesn’t question. The others all grow confused, wonder why they so easily agree to Logan’s demands. But Julian only ever smiles.

It’s a dangerous thing to play with, he knows. He’s hated himself every time. But he’s lonely, and he’s sad, and he needs someone.

“ _ Kiss me _ ,” he says, and Julian doesn’t hesitate.

_ “Stay with me _ ,” he says, and Julian takes his hand.

  
“ _ Love me _ ,” he says, and Julian smiles.


	25. Inhuman

There’s something not quite right about Julian’s boyfriend.

He’s nice enough, really. To Julian at least. But sometimes it’s like his actions are off. Like his expressions are false. He smiles too wide. He laughs too loud. He grips too tight.

Logan can’t quite place it. Derek accuses him of  _ jealousy _ , as absurd as that is. Julian rolls his eyes, says Logan can’t handle change, that he hates that someone new has been pulled into the orbit of their group.

Maybe it’s that he doesn’t understand what Julian  _ sees _ in him. It’s true, he doesn’t have a good idea of Julian’s type. But he finds it hard to believe that it could be someone so average, someone  _ bland _ , someone with no discernable talents or particular skills.

And yet Julian seems absolutely smitten with Adam Clavell.

He melts when Adam winds an arm around his waist. He swoons when Adam kisses his cheek. He pouts when they’re apart. Julian is  _ obsessed _ with him, and Logan can’t understand.

He barely recognizes his friend anymore. Julian’s always been so independent, so self-assured, so uniquely  _ him _ . 

Now, though, he’s nothing like himself. He seeks Adam’s permission for everything, his wide eyes searching his boyfriends face until he’s granted a nod or a shake of the head. He’s utterly dependent on him, looks so lost when they’re parted. 

Logan worries there’s something darker to their relationship. He worries Julian might be trapped, that Adam might be hurting him.

But Julian looks startled when Logan asks, hesitates for a moment before he laughs.

“Adam wouldn’t hurt me,” Julian says, “He isn’t  _ you _ .”

There’s something in his voice. Something cruel and hard and  _ wrong _ . Normally, the comment would send Logan into a rage. Normally, he’d shove Julian off, regret ever wondering.

Now, it only makes him worry more.

He watches carefully. Every time Adam puts his hands on Julian. Every kiss. Ever caress. Logan watches.

Adam watches, too.

The visit doesn’t come as a surprise. Logan’s known Adam doesn’t like him since day one. He knows Adam’s watched him watching, knows the questioning must infuriate him.

“Can I come in?” Adam asks, his voice sickly-sweet, tinged with honey. Logan opens the door for him, closes it behind him.

“I thought we should talk,” Adam says, his hands gliding over Logan’s things like he owns them, “About Julian.”

Have his eyes always been pitch black?

Has his smile always been that red?

Have his teeth always been so sharp?

Logan doesn’t have time to question. He doesn’t have to scream. Adam falls forward, and when Logan awakens he’s alone in his room. His head throbs, but he can’t remember why.

There’s something about Julian’s boyfriend.

The happy smile he gets when Julian nears. The bright eyes at Julian’s kiss. The soft caresses, so tender it almost hurts.

He’s happy for his friend, for finding his soulmate so early. For finding someone who cares so much, who loves him so deeply. It’s rare, something so beautiful, and Julian deserves it. 

Logan smiles.


	26. Abducted

When Logan is very young, he has a nanny who enjoys taking him to Central Park. Little boys need fresh air, she always says, and so Logan holds tight to her hand as they stroll along the path through the trees. But as Logan grows, he becomes more curious. More adventurous. Sometimes, when his nanny isn’t watching, Logan disappears. He sees a flower he wants to examine, or a bird he wants to catch. 

That’s how they find him the first time. 

He wanders too far. Crawls beneath branches and slips between bushes, winds up in a small grove of trees with an odd circle of light streaming through the leaves. They look different than the other grown-ups. Their skin is the same shade of shimmering gold, their hair is decorated with lily-white flowers. They wear jewels on their wrists and ankles, and their feet are bare. There’s something painted on their skin, a silvery pattern of swirls that contrasts with the gold of their skin.

They’re beautiful.

They look at him curiously, almost  _ frightened _ . 

He wants his nanny.

Logan whimpers, softly, and one of them kneels beside him, smiling so kindly.

“What’s your name?”

Logan sniffs, “Logan. I think I’m lost.”

“I think you’re right, Logan. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Julian. Can you tell me who you’re supposed to be here with?”

“My nanny.”

“What does she look like?”

Logan shrugs, “She got red hair. She’s little. Not like me but not tall like mommy and daddy.”

“Okay,” Julian smiles, takes Logan’s small hand in his own, “Let’s help you find your nanny.”

He walks with Logan, and his feet are silent across the grass. He leads him through the tight thicket of trees, and when they find the sidewalk again Logan lights up.

“That’s my nanny!”

He rushes forward, and the woman sighs with relief as she pulls Logan close. When Logan turns around, Julian’s gone.

The nanny doesn’t stay for long, after that. Logan is given another, a woman who believes young boys need books. She reads him the story of  _ Peter Pan _ , and Logan is fascinated. It reminds him of something familiar, something he swears he’s known before. 

Mommy and daddy’s fights have gotten worse. They scream, and things break, and Logan locks himself in his room and tries not to hear. Then one day, mommy leaves. And daddy doesn’t play with him anymore.

Suddenly Logan wishes he could be Peter Pan. Wishes fairies could come and find him, that they could take him away to Never Never Land, to a world full of magic.

He asks for the park, this time. This nanny isn’t so easily distracted, but Logan finds an opening. He runs.

It takes him longer this time. He can’t quite remember where he went the first time. But soon enough, he’s crawling into the tight thicket of trees. There’s only a few there this time, and they look at him just as curiously as before.

Julian steps forward.

“Logan,” he says, and his voice is amused, “Are you lost again?”

“No,” Logan says, braver now, “I wanted to come.”

“Did you?”

“I want you to take me to Never Never Land.”

The others giggle amongst themselves, and Julian silences them with a glare.

“I can’t do that, Logan.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have a family. They’ll be very worried if we take you away.”

“No they won’t,” Logan says, pouting, “They don’t play with me anymore.”

Something changes in Julian’s expression. He looks almost sad, “Tell you what. When you’re older, if you still want us to take you away, come back here. But you have to go home now, okay?”

It hurts. Another abandonment. After mommy left, after daddy stopped playing with him. Now the fairies don’t even want him.

Julian offers up his hand, but Logan turns away. He pushes through the trees again, the branches scratching at his skin. His nanny yells when she finds him, but Logan doesn’t listen.

He stops going to Central Park.

He forgets why, over the years. Something about it just feels wrong. Reminds him of pain, of loneliness. 

Many years go by, and Logan doesn’t need a nanny anymore. He goes away to school, and Central Park is forgotten. 

But summer comes, and Logan can’t bear another moment stuck in the same house as his father. He pulls on his gym clothes. A run could help.

And what better place to run than through the park?

He’s two miles in when he stumbles across something that catches his eye. It’s just a grouping of trees, but something about it makes him pause. He pulls out his headphones, steps forward.

He’s much taller now. It isn’t quite so easy to make his way through the branches. But he  _ has _ to. He feels a strange pull, like something is calling him.

Julian’s alone, this time, sitting still on a low tree branch. He looks up. Smiles. Like he’s been expecting this.

“Logan,” he says, softly, and Logan remembers.

“...you said I could come back,” Logan says, “If I still wanted.”

“Do you?”

Logan hesitates just a moment. He nods. 

“Well then,” Julian stands, offers his hand, “Let’s go.”


	27. Apocalypse

It’s been over a year. One year, six months, fifteen days, and three hours. A little over a year since it happened.

It’s been two hundred forty-six days since Logan’s seen another human. They’d banded together at first, sticking together for company and aid. But once they all realized how scarce resources were quickly becoming, they’d turned on each other. Logan distinctly remembers waking up that morning to a gun pointed between his eyes, held in the hands of a trembling man who couldn’t quite bring himself to shoot.

Logan didn’t suffer that same hesitation.

He’d walked away from that first bunker with blood on his hands and a bag full of food across his shoulder. He hasn’t sought out another group since.

It’s fine, really. Logan’s always been a bit of an introvert. He’s always kept to himself. He tries not to think of the loneliness, of the many nights spent curled under a thin blanket with no one but himself for company. He knows it won’t get better. Nobody’s coming to save them. He’ll die, eventually.

He just wants it to be on his own terms.

It’s been two hundred forty-seven days since Logan’s seen another human, and he hears a  _ noise _ . Not a normal noise -- not the eerie creak of the earth, the empty silence he’s grown accustomed to. It’s a soft sort of scurrying noise, the sound of someone nearby.

Logan’s hand finds his gun. That same gun that had been pointed right at him, the gun meant to kill him. He keeps it firmly at his side, slips silently from his sleeping corner to investigate. 

There’s a man there, rifling through Logan’s things -- his canned foods, his pilfered goods. His hands grasp at a bottle of shampoo, and he makes a soft noise of triumph.    
  


Logan raises the gun, and the click of the safety has the man spinning around, eyes wide.

“Wait!” He shouts, throwing his hands up, “Don’t shoot. Please. I didn’t know anyone was here.”

“Just stealing my things, then?”   
  
“You have  _ soap _ ,” the man says, “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve felt clean?”

He seems earnest, innocent. There’s no weapon that Logan can see, just a small knapsack that looks far too empty. Logan keeps his finger firmly on the trigger, but he lowers his gun.

“What’s your name?”

“Julian,” the man says, looking relieved, “I’m from California.”

“Logan. New York.”

“How many others?”

“Just me.”

Julian frowns, “You’re all alone?”

“So are you.”

“It’s a recent development.”

“Did you kill them?”

Julian looks startled by the question. He glances down at the gun in Logan’s hand, looking uneasy.

“I have water,” he offers, finally, “Don’t see any here. I’ll give you some water for some food.”

“...fine.”

It’s been two hundred fifty-six days since Logan struck out on his own, and he’s starting to rely too heavily on company again. He finds he missed conversation, that he loves the sound of another human’s laughter. Julian laughs so easily, too, his lips curving upwards at the slightest hint of amusement. Logan learns to joke again. He learns to laugh.

It’s been two hundred sixty-three days since Logan killed his first man, and he remembers pleasure again. Julian makes the first move, shifting close after they’ve finished dinner and resting a hand heavy on Logan’s thigh. It’s been so long since Logan’s had this, and he crawls over Julian eagerly, takes all he can get.

It’s been two hundred seventy-eight days since Logan stopped trusting, and he’s beginning to forget. He falls asleep every night with Julian tucked into his arms, soothed by the soft sounds of another heartbeat, another set of lungs. He’s beginning to remember what it feels like to  _ want _ .

It’s been two hundred eighty-three days, and Logan’s a  _ fool _ . He finds Julian’s knapsack, the one he’d come with, full of  _ Logan’s _ food and  _ Logan’s  _ soaps and  _ Logan’s _ knife. Julian hadn’t come for company, for  _ him _ . He’d come to steal. He’d come to gather up what he could and leave. Just like the others. He’d earned Logan’s trust, and now he intends to break it.

It’s been two hundred eighty-five days, and Logan has been patient. He hasn’t fought. He hasn’t brought up what he’s found. He’s watched. He’s examined. Julian seems so honest, so true. But he’s mentioned he was an actor, before. A good one. He falls asleep, and Logan’s hand finds his gun.

It’s been one year, seven months, twenty-four days, and four hours since it happened. 

One day since Logan’s seen another human.


	28. Injury

Logan knows that Julian hates feeling coddled. Hates feeling treated as if he’s delicate, as if he’s fragile.

But the fact of the matter is that he  _ is _ . He’s only human, after all. He can be hurt. He can be  _ killed _ .

Logan traces the lines of the scar across Julian’s face. It’s fresh, and his fingers come away dotted with tiny droplets of blood. 

_ His fault _ .

Julian stirs a bit in his sleep, shifting closer and pulling the blankets up to his chin.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” he mumbles, his eyes still shut, “It’s distracting.”

“You shouldn’t be with me.”

Those eyes snap open, wide awake, “You don’t mean that.”

“I hurt you,” Logan says, “I  _ keep _ hurting you.”

“And I keep forgiving you.”

But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Julian doesn’t understand his own humanity. He won’t acknowledge his limitations, his weaknesses. He’d gotten out okay today, but next time…?

“You deserve better,” Logan says, “You deserve someone who doesn’t lose control like this.”

“Where’s the excitement in that?”

“It’s not  _ exciting _ , Julian, it’s fucking  _ dangerous _ . You could die.  _ I  _ could…”

“You won’t.”

“But I  _ could _ .”

“But you  _ won’t _ ,” Julian says, stressing each word. He leans up on his forearms, staring down at Logan, “I know you won’t. You love me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. But that doesn’t change what I am.”

Julian sighs. His head lowers, and his lips brush against Logan’s cheek, “I just wish you saw what I do.”

It’s what he always says. That he sees the  _ good _ in Logan. That he sees something beautiful. Logan had loved it, at first. He loved being loved, loved having Julian look at him like he was the whole world.

Now, though, he wishes Julian could see the truth. Wishes Julian understood the gravity of the monster that lurks beneath Logan’s skin, the danger that deepens every moment they spend together. This isn’t a game, and this isn’t one of those movies that Julian loves. This is  _ real _ . 

Logan isn’t strong enough to let Julian go. He knows he should; he should never have let this happen in the first place, really. He should send Julian away, should let him have a safe, normal life.

But he loves Julian so desperately, and he  _ can’t _ .

He hopes one day Julian might understand. That Julian might make the choice to leave himself, that he’ll finally tire of Logan hurting him over and over again. He has to.

Because Logan knows he’ll go too far one day. He’ll lose control. 

If Julian doesn’t leave, Logan  _ will  _ kill him.

And he knows he’ll never be able to live with himself when he does.


	29. Bloodstain

As a child, Logan had been excited to learn that  _ soulmates _ were real. That somewhere out in the world, there existed the one person who would make him happier than anyone else. That someday he would find his perfect partner, someone who would love him unconditionally. 

When he’s older, he learns the hard truth. Yes, everyone has a soulmate. But you can never be sure of who it is until the day they die. The moment your soulmate passes away, a dark bruise forms on your chest, right above your heart. It’s a terrifying reality, only knowing when it’s too late.

Still, Logan hopes to find his. It’s reassuring that the universe has created someone just for him, that his soulmate is somewhere out there walking and talking and waiting.

For a time, he hopes it might be Blaine. His first  _ real _ boyfriend, the first time Logan experiences the excitement of infatuation and affection.

But Blaine’s bruise has already bloomed. It lies in stark contrast against the pale skin of his chest, and there’s a hitch in throat when he murmurs the name  _ Jude _ . It’s unusual for someone their age to already know, and Logan feels a twinge of guilt that his first thought is one of disappointment. 

Then, he thinks it might be Kurt. Their voices blend well together when they sing, and Logan’s always been a bit of a romantic when it comes to music. It would be fitting for his soulmate to introduce himself through song, Logan thinks. But then  _ Blaine _ claims him, and Logan is furious. It isn’t fair, he thinks, that Blaine should have this chance when he’s already met his soulmate. It isn’t fair to Logan, who’s still looking for his, or Kurt, who shouldn’t have to be with someone who can’t be his soulmate. But Kurt doesn’t seem to care, and the bubble of hope in Logan’s chest pops.

Fate can be cruel, he thinks, but it wouldn’t be cruel enough to give him a soulmate who won’t love him.

It could be worse, Logan knows. He could be like Blaine, could have known his soulmate only briefly and had him taken away too soon. He could be like those sad people in the articles he sees, who woke one day with the bruise on their heart and spent hours combing through obituaries, wondering which of them might have been their soulmate. 

He’ll find his one day, he knows. Maybe it’s just too early for him.

He’s seventeen when it happens. Young, still. He wakes up in the middle of the night to a sharp pain in his chest, to a throbbing head and burning lungs. He gasps, stumbling out of bed to the restroom. He splashes water on his face, grips tight to the countertops and looks up at his reflection.

There it is, blooming black across his chest. A symmetrical bruise, right over his heart, a pool of thick blood lurking beneath the skin, staining his pale chest. He presses his fingers to it, winces when the pain deepens.

It’s impossible to know for sure. There are thousands of deaths across the world that night, and that’s only the ones that make it into print. Logan tries to narrow it down, cuts out all the women and those far too old. Still, he’s left with too many names, too much unsurety. 

He reads them, over and over again, wonders which of them might have been his.

_ Gregory Hampton, 21, found dead in London apartment _

_ 15-year-old Jung Kim loses cancer battle _

_ Earthquake in Mexico leaves eighteen schoolboys dead _

_ Teenage actor Julian Larson sole victim in house fire _

Logan reads them all. Every name. He wonders about each of them, wonders which one he might have loved. 

He wonders what could have been.


	30. Temptation

Logan’s supposed to be better than this.

He’s an  _ angel _ , after all. He’s supposed to be a paragon of virtue, an eternal symbol of purity.

Of course, he’s never been too good at all that.

He’s only barely kept his wings up till now, has wound up on the naughty list countless times for his inability to control his emotions and his constant questioning of what  _ good _ really is. 

But he’s never fallen in with a demon before.

And Julian isn’t just any demon -- he’s the  _ favorite _ demon, the self-crowned Prince of Hell. He’s the ultimate forbidden fruit, the pinnacle of prohibited.

But  _ God _ , does Logan want. 

Julian’s constantly just  _ there _ , taunting. Dragging those long fingers across Logan’s chest, sliding those sinful hands into his hair. He never presses too close, dances just far enough that Logan can’t touch him. He smiles, and he laughs, and he blows kisses as he leaves. 

Logan’s never felt so corrupted. 

Julian makes him  _ feel _ things, things he doesn’t have a name for. He makes him  _ want _ things he isn’t allowed to want. Sometimes, when Julian’s near, Logan thinks that falling might be worth it after all.

“Miss me, baby?” Julian asks, and Logan  _ had _ . He had, so much he can’t even comprehend it. He aches when Julian isn’t there, waits in desperate patience for the next moment they might interact. He begins to seek out ways of running into him, spends more time on Earth than he does in Heaven.

“Do you want me, darling?” Julian smirks, and Logan  _ does _ . He only has a vague idea of what it means to want someone. He knows just enough from his observations of the humans. But he’s never experienced the pleasures of the flesh himself, isn’t even sure what it might  _ mean _ between an angel and a demon.

“Wanna come home with me, sweetheart?” Julian’s fingers stroke his face, and Logan wonders. He wonders what would happen, if he followed. He’d lose his wings, he knows. But would he be welcomed? What would it be like? It must have some good to it, if it created a creature as devastatingly beautiful as Julian.

This is a test, Logan decides. A trial of his loyalty, of his goodness. He’s had too many negative marks, and this is how they’ll decide. Julian’s the bait, and Logan’s so close to falling into his trap.

As he spends more time with Julian, he stops caring so much about what this all means. He wants so deeply, so desperately, and damn the consequences.

The next time Julian puts his hand on Logan’s chest, Logan takes it in his own. Julian looks surprised, remains speechless for once. His eyes find Logan’s, and there’s a question there.

“If I followed you, will you let me?”

Julian stares for a moment. He nods. 

“Then let’s go.”


	31. Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different

Julian grins at his reflection as he admires the finishing touches of his Halloween costume in the mirror. He’s still a little surprised the studio let him take this -- it’s just a mock-up, of course, but it still looks so  _ real _ , and Julian can’t wait to show it off.

It really isn’t a surprise that Dalton boys tend to go all-out for Halloween. Each House had turned into a haunted attraction for the day, each with its own themes. Windsor had gone the traditional route, with jump-scares and eerie music. Hanover’s had been a little more subdued, with an introductory storyline that carried throughout the house. But  _ Julian _ had been allowed to organize Stuart’s house this year -- with the help of the drama department, he’d gone full-on  _ Sleep No More _ , put on a Hitchcock-inspired play that led guests through multiple floors of devoted actors.

But tonight is the school-wide Halloween party. Costumes are required, of course, and Julian’s looking forward to showing off his own.

He’s a little confused when he steps out into the hall. There’s a handful of boys milling about, all no doubt on their way to the party. But some of them seem not to be in costume. He catches a glimpse of Bailey, dressed in a black leather jacket with slicked-back hair and dark sunglasses. Upon seeing Julian, Bailey’s eyes widen and he slips back into his room.

Strange.

He doesn’t think much of it, really. The others are odd, sometimes, and he doesn’t pretend to understand the way normal teenagers think. He heads out to the main lawn, where the party is being held.

The twins have gone all out in their decorating, as always. Long strings of pumpkin-shaped lights hang between the trees, and remote-controlled drones carry floating ghosts through the sky. There’s tables and tables of Halloween-themed treats placed strategically around, and Dobry students shriek as costumed boys jump out from beneath tables and behind trees. 

Despite the intricacy of the decor, Julian does notice a few things missing -- there’s no fake blood, no trick knives, no fire. He wonders if that thought had been just for him.

“Hey, Julian!”

He turns, smiles when he sees little Austin Manning. They’d all been surprised, when Logan’s step-brother turned up, but Julian likes the boy. He knows he’s a little hurt that Logan hasn’t spent much time with him, and Julian’s tried his best to make sure Austin feels welcome. Besides, the kid has proved himself helpful when Julian needs feedback on his recorded auditions. He’s honest, and his advice is actually  _ helpful _ , unlike some others.

Austin doesn’t really appear to be in costume. He isn’t really dressed that differently than he normally is. He’s wearing a dark maroon sweater, a thick scarf around his neck, dark-wash jeans with brown shoes. It’s the glasses and the hair that throw Julian off, though -- he’s never seen Austin in glasses, and he seems to have done something to darken his hair.

“Who are you supposed to be?”

The question seems to delight Austin, “You can’t tell?”

“I’m guessing some character from one of those books you’ve been reading?”

Austin grins, shakes his head, “No.”

“Then who?”

“I’m not supposed to tell.”

Julian’s eyes narrow, “What do you mean you’re not supposed to tell?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” Austin repeats, “I’m just supposed to make sure you’re standing by the stage for the costume contest.”

“There’s a costume contest?” Julian asks, confused. Austin takes him by the elbow, starts to pull him toward the stage, “I didn’t enter.”

“You can’t. It’s a group contest. Whoever has the best theme.”

“There are  _ themes _ ?”

“They’ll yell at me if I don’t do my job. Please just come stand here.”

“Who’ll yell at you? Why’d  _ you _ get put in charge of babysitting duty?”

“Because my costume is the least obvious,” Austin says, and that clears up absolutely nothing, “Just stand here, okay? It’s about to start.”

He runs off, leaving Julian right in front of the stage. He’s still utterly thrown by whatever the hell is going on, doesn’t understand how  _ Austin _ got roped into something like this. 

He really hopes it’s not another one of the twins pranks.

Turns out there really  _ is _ a costume contest. Julian’s not sure how he hadn’t heard of it, and he’s definitely not sure why it’s so important he watch it. There’s a group of Dobry girls all dressed in Disney princess costumes, curtsying and waving as the crowd cheers. Some of the Windsors have dressed up as racers from Mario Kart, complete with very realistic miniature cars that seem to actually function. There’s movie references, too: the Ghostbusters, another Dobry group dressed as the Rockford Peaches, the Scooby Gang.

“...and now for our last -- and  _ largest  _ \-- group. Please give it up for Stuart House!”

What the  _ fuck _ ?

Julian scowls, a little offended. So they’d really planned a whole group costume without him, hm? He has half a mind to storm away, to avoid seeing whatever bullshit theme they’ve put together. 

But something stops him.

Derek steps up first, in and outfit that includes a worn leather jacket and a very specific hair style. Logan’s next, dressed completely in black, looking as if he’s stepped out of a different century. His hair is darkened to a near-black, and when he smiles Julian can see fake fangs stuck to his teeth. They’re all there. Bailey, Thad, Cyrus. Boys he doesn’t even know the name of, boys he’s not sure he’s ever even spoken to. 

Sebastian’s costume gets the most laughs -- he’s gone for something a little different. He’s nearly naked, save a strategically placed gold silk wrap around his waist. There are thick golden bracelets at his wrists, anklets above his feet, all dripping with glittering jewels.

Julian remembers that photoshoot.

“Their theme, of course -- is  _ Julian Larson _ .”

Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, and Julian tries to blink them away. A year ago, he might’ve thought this was done to mock him. But they’ve all been so  _ nice _ to him this year, even when he doesn’t deserve it. They all stand there, grinning at him. Derek, dressed as Grant from  _ Something Damaged _ . Logan as Maren in  _ Blackwater _ , which hasn’t even been released yet. Sebastian, from that  _ ridiculous _ photoshoot.

Even little Austin Manning, in the exact outfit Julian had worn on the poster of  _ A Perfect Silence _ .

Dozens of Stuarts, lined on stage, looking just like  _ him _ . They’re grinning, and the crowd is laughing, and Julian knows there must be phone cameras painted at him. 

He manages to compose himself. He places his hands on the edge of the stage, heaves himself up in one smooth motion and stands before Logan and Derek.

“You look ridiculous as a brunette,” Julian says, and Logan smirks.

“I was gonna copy that one role you did as a blonde, but this one let me carry a sword.”

“So was this your idea, then?”

Derek shrugs, “Group effort, really. There was some arguing over who got to be what.”

“ _ I _ wanted to be your character in  _ Secondhand Lines _ ,” Sebastian interjects, “But they vetoed that.”

“So you’re not overjoyed that you get to stand in front of the whole student body half-naked?”

Sebastian smirks.

“Well, folks,” the host says, “I gotta say, I think we have to give this one to Stuart. I mean, they got  _ every single student _ to dress up as one of Julian Larson’s characters. Except for, you know, Julian himself.”

There’s a round of laughter, and Julian grins. He adjusts the Nightwing mask over his eyes.

“Yes. Except me.”


End file.
